Work Text:
"Come with me," Magnus murmured, wine glass in one hand, Abby's hand in the other.
"Where are we going?"
"It would hardly be a surprise if I told you." A slow smile stretched through her features, and the blossoming warmth in Abby's chest screamed for recognition. Winking, Magnus added, "Bring the bottle."
Abby had no idea what she'd done to warrant such attention from Doctor Magnus. One minute they'd been discussing various agencies they'd both worked with (or, in Doctor Magnus' case, run from), when conversation dwindled and Abby asked about the wine. Magnus smiled, looked at the label, and said, "That was from Alexander, after I used his medicine on a patient."
Abby nodded, sipping from her glass. "Must have been a success."
"Penicillin opened many doors for him."
Abby stopped sipping, looking at Helen through the rim of the glass still between her lips, then down to the wine itself. Suddenly it was too red, too strong, too-- "Penicillin? You-you got this from the guy who invented penicillin?" Helen nodded, and Abby put down the glass. "How--?"
"I do not age as a conventional person does," she explained, sipping her wine and talking like she's telling her the time. Looking deep into Abby's eyes, she added, "I'm a hundred and sixty-one years old."
Abby blinked. And blinked again. "I need your skincare routine."
--
Helen laughed. She knew the moment she found dear, sweet, not-so-innocent Abby in the kitchen that her evening would be interesting. Between her various commitments, Helen watched the young agent navigate the world in which she'd found herself, taking abnormals, the Sanctuary, and its staff in her stride. Nothing phased her: neither the parasitic Hollow Earth abnormal or her forced separation from William as he recovered from Bolivia. (Helen barely recovered from the enforced separation, missing Abby’s wide eyed adoration those weeks she stayed away.)
Rolling her eyes mentally, Helen turned away from that subject matter. My girlfriend taunted her with every heartbeat, every intake of breath. As if being his girlfriend was Abby's only role in life. Maybe in his small world view it was. How many times had she personally stepped away from an entanglement when ideas like matrimony and being a housewife were casually discussed as she chased the zephyr of pleasure? To be kept, and barefoot in a kitchen?
Her stockinged toes curled against the kitchen floor tile, the wine bitter down her throat.
As they spoke, the conversation going from business to curiosity (Abby's mostly: "Victorian England and all those corsets!") Helen decided this was a conversation better had in her rooms, away from prying eyes (and a run in with Will, prematurely ending their evening). "Come with me," she murmured, running her palm over Abby's knuckles. A victorious cry crowed in her mind when Abby clung to her.
"Where are we going?" she asked, swallowing what Helen knew to be breathless anticipation, the lilt in her voice unmistakeable. Even her eyes were starry as she stared.
"It would hardly be a surprise if I told you." A devious grin bedevilled her lips. Winking, she added, "Bring the bottle," as she tugged her hand towards her.
They walked side by side down the hall, arms brushing as they sipped their wine. Abby, bless her, grabbed a full bottle (a Malbec, from the looks of the label) as well as the bottle Helen had opened barely twenty minutes ago. They were silent; Helen lost in thought. What was she doing? Why was she entertaining the notion of bringing Abby to her closet, to watch her face light up as they shared a glass or two of wine, and maybe more?
Glancing sideways at Abby in the elevator, she decided she'd ignore those thoughts.
--
"I haven't kept much of my clothing over the years," said Magnus as they crossed a threshold, "but I couldn't bear parting with a few pieces."
Abby stared around the room, eyes aching as she tried to take everything in. It was like a scene from a movie - a dove grey chaise longue to the left, a small coffee table nearby with a vase of flowers, and dozens upon dozens of hangers with an item of clothing on each, her fingers itching to touch. There was even a little cushioned box surrounded by ceiling to floor mirrors off to one side. "Ah- a few?" she asked, choking on the words in awe.
Something brushed against her lower back, gentle pressure she guessed to be Magnus' hand guiding her into the walk-in wardrobe. "I like these memories," she explained, breath warm against her (reddening) cheek.
"A lot of memories…" Abby murmured, finally remembering she had feet that could move her from the door (away from Magnus). The tiny clink of glass on glass was her only clue she'd deposited her wine. The clothes were calling her, although, was she even--?
"Go ahead," said Magnus indulgently, her voice as warm as the glow in Abby's tummy (not just the alcohol making me warm). Magnus relaxed on the chaise longue, stockinged feet curled beneath her, as Abby made a beeline for a deep wine red gown. The black beads glittered in the light, the sleeves sheer but inviting. Layers of satin hung quietly, the tiered skirt so stereotypical of the time. It almost looked too good to be a century old dress.
--
Helen forced herself to keep her breathing even. Of course Abby would go directly to that one. Even in her darkest days, directly after discovering John's true identity, Helen couldn't bring herself to get rid of it. Their evening had been so enjoyable, their intimate night the first of what she hoped would be many together. Then it went pear shaped in the most terrific fashion. He went one way, she hid Ashley in the opposite direction, away from him and his influence.
But that dress. All beads and lace and satin; her skin tingled as she remembered the lace (and his breath) whispering against her décolletage.
She watched as Abby brushed her fingers against each outfit, stopping when she found something that piqued her interest. She'd all but skipped over a few dresses, ones that had true sentimental value to Helen (and would need moving in the coming days). Soon, as Helen poured herself another glass of wine, Abby had the sense to look in the drawers.
She flushed when Abby gasped, her smile only slightly smug as her guest (and latest thinking point) picked up a pale pink corset. "It's beautiful," she whispered.
"There are about a dozen different corsets in those drawers," she said, smiling again. Abby all but dove into the drawer of underwear. Which would she choose? The pink one was a whalebone one, as were one or two others, but the steel boned ones were just as pretty, just as restrictive. Rather than let her mire herself in choice, Helen decided to guide Abby. Standing next to her, a bit closer than was strictly necessary, Helen let her fingers caress each corset, delighting at the satins and silks she found. "I know the perfect one," she breathed into Abby's ear. The flush across her cheeks was as beguiling as her smile, not quite as innocent as she let on.
--
"I know the perfect one," Magnus whispered, her lips almost touching the shell of Abby's ear. She would've sworn down, there and then, that Magnus had the power to make her swoon (and Abby wasn't a swooner by nature). But her breath was so warm and the words so inviting that she just watched Magnus finger each item before drawing out her choice.
Crimson with black lace, with very little breast coverage. Abby almost baulked, but then the image of Magnus wearing it and very little else flooded her mind. Maybe with a mask, and a crop? That image could stay firmly in Abby's imagination, as well as the things Magnus would do with said crop.
She'd said something. Shaking her head, Abby replied, "I'm sorry, I missed that."
Abby hadn't heard a laugh so melodious in years, but there wasn't a hint of unkindness either. "I said," Magnus replied, pushing the corset and a thin cotton undershirt into her hands, "try it on. I can help lace you up." That sealed the deal. Helen Magnus willingly touching Abby? That was a dream come true. She'd just have to remember to breathe and behave and not melt under her gaze. Nodding, Abby's smile grew seeing Magnus nod and grin. "Come along," she said, taking her hand again and leading her towards the mirrors.
But wait. Undershirt. Did she really want Magnus to see her plain Jane bra? Well, in a perfect world yes, but right now probably not. She was just satisfying Abby's curiosity, nothing more. Deciding on just acting, she said, "Oh, I'll just go put this on." Holding up the slip, she added, "I'll be two seconds."
Magnus nodded, the perfect hostess smile never fading. "There's an armchair in there. If you'd like, you can leave your things there."
The armchair was more like a loveseat. Abby didn't imagine cuddling up to anyone there at all (except Magnus, or maybe Will… Magnus and Will? Oh the possibilities). As the undershirt fell to her waist, she shucked off her work slacks too. How many times would she ever get a chance to wear a proper Victorian dress? Sure, her panties were from the more utilitarian side of her wardrobe, but the dress would soon cover that.
"I thought you'd gone missing," Magnus murmured a few minutes later, standing up from the couch.
"Got caught in some thoughts," Abby answered, her hand doing some weird twisty motion by her head. I shall not covet my boyfriend's boss. "I got this far," she added, holding the corset to her tummy, keenly aware of the thin cotton doing nothing to disguise her straining nipples.
If Magnus noticed, she said nothing. Instead, she nodded. “Come here, I'll sort you out.”
I shall not covet my boyfriend’s boss, or imagine her hands on my skin or my head-- “Sure thing,” she replied, far too brightly. Was that desperation she heard there too? More importantly, did Magnus hear it? From the way she smiled and drew an invisible circle with one finger, asking her to turn around, Abby thought probably not.
She spun on the spot, presenting her back and all the loose string.
“Stand there,” she breathed, her words low and honey mellow. Abby locked her knees. What was it tonight that made her so receptive to the sound of Magnus’s voice? Light fingers dragged around her waist to the strings, and Abby thanked her stars they weren't in the mirrors. She had no idea what she’d say if Magnus asked if everything was ok.
Better than ok, lay your hands on me again, touch my sk--
The first pull of the strings stole her breath - it wasn't painful, just unexpected. Under the guise of rearranging the fabric over her breasts, she applied just enough friction and pressure to jolt her mind back to the present - away from chasing pleasure alone. “Don't fidget, Abigail,” Magnus warned in a commanding tone. Arousal flooded her system.
“I'll stop,” Abby promised.
Magnus smiled again, tugging the strings tighter, hugging her waist with the steel boned corset. "Take a deep breath," Magnus murmured by her ear, holding the strings in place. Abby complied easily, breathing in through her nose and out through her mouth. Behind her, Magnus smiled (smirked). "That's it," she said, tying up the two ends with an efficiency borne of practice. She ran her hands down the sides of Abby's waist (Abby's mind short circuiting when the tops of Magnus' fingers touched the underside of her bare arm), that calculating look back. "Wait there a moment," she said, the same tone of quiet command in her sentence, as she backed away into the deeper recesses of the closet. Abby prayed Magnus' ageing thing didn't have super smell or X-Ray eyes. Can't let the boss know I'm horny as hell. Magnus returned moments later with a different froth of satin and lace, the same colour as the corset she wore. "This should fit you," she explained, holding up the dress. "I wore this my first day at Oxford, when I met Nikola…"
She worked efficiently, her fingers lightning fast tying up various laces, all the while discussing how university was back then. Abby barely heard her, concentrating as she was on not making any noise or fidgeting when fingernails whispered down her back.
"Abigail, tell me about your adventures in Prague."
Abby heard words flowing from her mouth, her hands and face animated. Through it all, Magnus doted her, watching her every move as she dressed her. She couldn't decide if Magnus thought her an adversary or lunch. A delicious lurch flooded her stomach; Magnus' eyes strayed from her eyes to her lips, now suddenly dry and in need of wetting.
Had anyone asked, Abby would've coyly mentioned an ex-girlfriend or two. Nobody asked, although Will made a snarky comment or ten when discussing her past. They assumed because she was in the FBI she was as vanilla as ice cream. Taking the metaphor to its tenuous conclusion, she hoped Magnus would notice the ripple of raspberry through her. Give it up, Abby, she's Helen Magnus. She's not--
"Red suits you," Magnus murmured in the lull, turning for her glass of wine. "May I?" she asked, pointing at the no frills ponytail Abby'd thrown her hair into that morning. Nodding, the almost silent sigh fell from Abby's lips unbidden as Magnus finger-combed it free. With a wave and a curl, her hair pooled on her shoulders, her skin aching to be touched.
Every bit of me needs touching right now.
In recent weeks, Will barely looked at her, their intimacies perfunctory at best. Except when he first came back from Bolivia (before she was sent away as he recovered). He didn't speak; his body did all the heavy lifting. Like a wild beast he ravaged her, leaving her sated (and a bit sore, in a good way) but ultimately alone, all but ignoring her as they laid together in the aftermath.
(She knew he dreamt of Magnus that night, calling her name in his sleep, the same way he'd all but growled her own name as he came, tugging her hair into his fist.)
Being the object of Magnus' whole attention sent a heady rush through Abby. She craved the attention. She needed Magnus to see her as more than just an agent, or Will's girlfriend. Looking into her crystal blue eyes, Abby tried to speak but no words came out. Instead, her lips flapped noiselessly.
"There," Magnus murmured, brushing away Abby's unbound hair. The skin over Abby's collarbone burned beneath the ghost-light touch Magnus bestowed. "Much better…" She was too close, Abby’s arms goose pimpled as Magnus’ breath butterflied against her lips. Throwing caution to the wind, Abby kissed her, swift and daring.
Time stopped for a moment, and in each agonising second Abby couldn't decide if she should end the kiss and run, or end the kiss and run and hide, or--
"Finally."
--
Helen hadn't meant to breathe the word, but before allowing it room to grow, she ran her hands into Abby's hair, crushing her lips against hers in a decidedly less cautious move. They clung to each other, Abby's mouth tasting like the merlot they'd shared, her tongue as eager as her delightful groans.
Nothing else mattered.
Alone together in her wardrobe, Helen needed every second to categorise each sound and movement Abby made. Teased tongue with tip - Abby shivered. Her tongue in my mouth - an exhilarated groan. Nipped lip caused a heady squeak of excitement and lips drunk on kisses.
There was nothing soft or gentle as to how Helen kissed her neck. The pulse point throbbing just beneath her skin begged to be sucked, licked, nibbled, and Helen, glad of the pliancy of her libidinous cohort, worshipped her flesh. Abby's breathy gasp and almost physical melting in her arms spurred Helen on. If she'd known how receptive Abby would be to necking in her wardrobe, Helen would've suggested it long ago.
"Sofa," she murmured against Abby's lips, walking backwards and pulling her (very willingly) along. She needed this. There had been plenty of nights holed away in hotels during her hundred and thirteen year sojourn, some even with repeat guests, but the willing malleability, excitement, and downright giddiness rolling off Abby in waves was headier than any wine or bite she'd encountered (or bestowed). That Abby all but sat astride her, her fingers in her hair as she kissed every inch of available skin, was icing on the cake.
Helen needed to feel her flesh between her teeth, the urge to bite her shoulder overwhelming her. With practised ease, she undid her hard work of the last ten minutes to rid Abby of the top half of her day dress. Next the undershirt was moved off her shoulders, leaving her skin bare. Rosy nipples peaked out of the froth of lace.
The moaned, "Jesus, Magnus," and the undulation of her hips told Helen everything.
"Call me Helen," she breathed in Abby's ear, brushing her thumb across one nipple. Then, with laughable ease, she laid Abby down, caging her with her own body. Licking her lips, Helen knew what she wanted next.
--
Clad in one of Helen's old corsets and a dress with more layers than an onion, Abby knew her harsh pants were not from her restricted breathing but the biting kisses and sucks to her skin. Each kiss was a blessing, thanksgiving and worship with every touch, every taste, every tease. But the biting? White hot bolts of arousal shot through her to pool between her legs, Helen (Helen!) already grinning wickedly when her fingers found her drenched panties.
"Do you need these?" she asked, one perfectly manicured finger running along the lacy leg band.
Abby shook her head, watching in breathless anticipation as Helen pulled them down and off her body. Gently grabbing her ankle, Helen kissed and licked and nipped up her leg.
"Stop squirming, Abigail." Her breath caught; those words, that tone, commanding her right now into compliance? Abby flopped back onto the sofa as Helen held her hips down with just her fingertips. With each thrum of heat, her arousal threatened to overtake her body and jump Helen, to turn the tables on her. Instantly, images of ravishing her on the floor of her walk-in wardrobe crowded her mind's eye.
"Sorry," she finally gasped as Helen sunk her teeth into her thigh. That was gonna leave a mark, but she couldn't care less. In the time since she and -- her mind skittered around his name -- found Helen in her office, she found herself less and less inclined to his perfunctory fumbling, and thinking more about Magnus (Helen) and a four poster bed.
About Ma-- Helen herself on that four poster bed, dark hair fanned around her, golden light bathing her naked skin. And now, with a corset pushing up her tits, and Helen spreading her legs, Abby just wanted the moment to last forever, teetering on the precipice before--
Her gasp surprised her as much as Helen's mouth on her pussy did. And oh did Helen know how to tease. Between feather light brushes and full swipes, Abby could barely breathe, let alone think anything past, "More, oh god please more."
Helen's laughter reverberated through her. Abby didn't care. Helen was doing things she hadn't experienced in months. And expertly too. The slickness between her legs was almost embarrassing - she hadn't been this wet and wanting in a long time.
"That's it, Abigail," Helen crooned as she slowly slid two fingers into her. "You look stunning." She kissed her knee. "Do you like that?" A lick, featherlight as before.
More gasps and oaths and, "Holy fuck yes," filtered through the haze of heat and need.
"I best continue," she murmured. Abby opened her eyes just long enough to see Helen wink, then disappear behind the froth of skirt and petticoats. Her tongue soon began its movements anew.
Abby scrunched up the skirt in her hands, panting, gasping as Helen feasted on her. The slide of her fingers syncopated with the movements of her tongue. Where did she learn to do that? And could she just keep doing that forever?
"Maybe not quite forever, but certainly for an orgasm… or three," she said, licking the crease of her thigh.
"Three?" Abby squeaked, up on her elbows to look down at Helen crown.
Helen shrugged, and sucked Abby's clit as she thrust her fingers. Thoughts stopped for a minute, everything blurring into white lights and stars.
--
Fingers knuckle deep in Abby’s quim, Helen brought her gently back to Earth. The ragged panting that filled the room mutated into deep breaths, Abby’s breathing calming down as her inner muscles fluttered around Helen's fingers. Kissing her thighs, laving one of the redder bite marks, Helen watched Abby watch her, a small smile in the corner of her lips. “Again?” Helen asked, kissing the sensitive skin between thigh and mons pubis.
“Uh-huh,” Abby replied, nodding then groaning. Now this was fun, making Abby fall apart on her fingers and tongue. She made such delightfully delicious sounds, little gasps and groans as Helen teased and stroked and fully pressed her advantage. And how wonderful to see her unabashedly playing with her nipples, adding to the sensations pushing her closer to the edge. Fingers thrusting, thumb brushing Abby’s clit, Helen sat back on her heels to watch her actions, drinking in each twist and pull of her blush pink nipples. There was a rhythm to her ministrations, easy to pick up and echo on her clit.
The air turned blue with the vulgarities spilling from Abby’s lips, and for a moment Helen wondered if Abby would swear like that with a strap on filling her cunt. Would she even like that sort of play?
The muscles around her fingers tightened once again, rigidity robbing Abby of breath, her orgasm drenching Helen’s digits. Swallowing air was all Abby could do until she begged again for more.
“More of what, Abby?” Helen murmured, brushing her body against hers as her fingers continued moving without mercy in her quim.
“Ju-just mu-mu-more,” she panted.
“What’s the magic word?” Helen kissed just below her earlobe, grinning against the warm skin.
“Please make me come again, Helen,” Abby begged, the word please becoming a chant as Helen’s mouth found one pert pink nipple. Abby tugged on the other, twisting it between her thumb and forefinger as her hand cradled her breast.
--
One second, Helen’s teeth were worrying Abby’s nipple, the next she was back between her legs, doing the same thing with her clit. Abby couldn't open her eyes, could barely hear, every nerve ending ablaze. The heat that normally dissipated after coming once (after Will) kept multiplying; layer on layer of desire, of need, of satisfaction, but somehow Helen’s appetite had not been satiated.
Abby was right - she was Helen’s lunch (and supper, breakfast and brunch rolled into one).
Time stood still. All that mattered were Helen’s lips, tongue, and fingers, pushing Abby closer and closer to yet another orgasm. One hand started anew with her breast, the other clasping the edge of the couch, wanting desperately to feel Helen’s hair between her fingers but not wanting to push her luck. Short, sharp breaths was just about all her lungs could handle, the blood thrumming loudly in her ears in tandem with the ratcheting arousal. Deft fingers skittered over the hand clawing the couch, coming to intertwine with her own.
Helen was saying something again, but Abby couldn't hear - bliss was ever nearer and--
“-- such a good girl, so wet, so willing, so so good--”
--
Helen grinned, victorious, as Abby shattered again around her fingers and on her tongue. Slowly drawing her fingers out, she kissed Abby’s cheek, watching as she flung a hand over her eyes and grinned. “Too bright?” Helen asked, her nose almost in Abby’s hair.
“Something like that,” she replied, laughing. A moment passed, and her hand moved. Bright blue eyes peeked out from behind her fingers, a shy smile on her lips.
Helen kissed her fingertips, smiling back. Abby looked thoroughly debauched, hair fanned around her head, breasts heaving, legs akimbo, and Helen revelled in being the cause. “Did you have fun, my darling?” she asked, the fingers covered in Abby’s drying arousal close to her mouth.
Abby nodded, and took the bait. With the flat of her tongue, she licked Helen’s fingers - knuckle to tip - clean, blushing prettily when Helen murmured, “Good girl.”
Abby stretched towards her, and caught her lips gently in a searching kiss. Her talented tongue swept against Helen’s, moaning as she tasted herself there. As Abby’s fingers wove through Helen’s hair, she realised how sensual an individual Abby was, luxuriating in kissing as her hands started meandering downwards.
Oh, how Helen wanted things to continue, a bubble of pleasure in her walk-in wardrobe, but in her haste to dress Abby (and undress her minutes later) she’d forgotten to turn off her walkie talkie.
“Hey Doc, the Ehrentig in the SHU is acting hinky,” crackled Henry’s voice from the speaker. Unclipping it from her waistband, giving Abby one last, swift kiss, she moved to sit fully next to her.
“In what way hinky, Henry?” she asked, fingertips on Abby’s thigh, wordlessly asking her to stay exactly there.
“Climbing up the walls like it's trying to run away from the water hinky.”
“I thought Ehrentigs was a form of water snake,” Abby murmured, voice pitched low enough so only Helen could hear her.
“That’s right,” said Helen, squeezing Abby’s thigh, her fingers brushing the inside of her knee. It was just to watch Abby shudder as Helen carried on her conversation with Henry, telling him she’d meet him at the SHU.
“I can help,” said Abby, once the walkie talkie was quiet again. “If you want, I mean. And then I can help.” Sliding her hand up Helen’s stockinged thigh, she stopped exactly between the top of her stocking and the edge of her knickers, stroking a finger lazily over the skin.
Trails of fire followed the finger’s progress. Helen bit back a moan as the thought hit her.
Abby liked praise, and Helen liked praising, especially when a command had been carried out precisely. She could teach Abby how to please her and enjoy the fruits of her labour after.
Bestowing one final kiss, Helen finally replied, “The Ehrentig first, then we’ll see.”